


Listen When I'm Talking

by Sali_Mali



Series: Nick and the demon spawn [4]
Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Fluff, Humour, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:20:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sali_Mali/pseuds/Sali_Mali
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s 3.04am and Nick is awake and bored and that's the only reason he does it, aka Nick finally gives in and has a discussion with the demon spawn.  Beware of extreme fluff (sorry).</p><p>Set a few weeks after the last one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Listen When I'm Talking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lottiem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lottiem/gifts).



> Okay, one last fic (as promised). This is a bit fluffy, I know, but I hope it's still funny as well and leaves them in a good place.
> 
> Lottiem, you may notice this addresses one of your worries (no heavy drinking for Nick, I promise!). I hope you like it :)

It’s 3.04am and Nick is awake and bored. He has at least another two hours before he can justify getting up for work, longer, probably, if Harry has any say in it (and he usually does) and the demon spawn will _not stop moving_. He looks sideways to where Harry is curled beside him, blissfully asleep with his mouth hanging open as he dribbles on Nick’s Egyptian cotton pillows. Nick’s tempted to instagram it for revenge.

Instead he shifts around, looking for something else to occupy him. His phone is over on the desk, plugged in and charging, and the bedside table is empty but for a book he’s not actually reading, his glasses, and the small ultrasound picture Harry’s propped against the lamp. He squints at it. The blurry shape of the baby looks sort of creepy in the dim light. It looked sort of creepy in the normal light too, if he’s honest, but it at least has a face now, and hands and stuff, and it’s _normal_. Well, as normal as it’s ever likely to be with them as parents. Ever since he made that joke about being wasted when Harry knocked him up, Harry’d been paranoid the baby would be born with two heads or an addiction to Jägerbombs. Never mind Nick pointing out that the whole reason he’d gone to the doctor’s in the first place was because he’d been feeling off for _weeks_ , and, if anything, the baby was going to be born with an embarrassing addiction to sparkling mineral water and early nights.

He looks down at his stomach. Without his oversize hoodies and jumpers, the shape of it is more obvious, even through the duvet and his baggy t-shirt. It’s hard to believe there’s something living in there, even if it makes its presence felt on a daily basis. He prods it gently and feels a flutter of movement in response. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to something moving around in his stomach that isn’t his lunch or ten shots of vodka after a particularly ill-advised night out. 

He stops prodding (because that’s probably not the way to get it to sleep) and looks out of the window, drumming his fingers lightly against his chest instead. He could get up and watch some telly, he thinks, but that would mean moving and Nick’s not sure he’s up for anything that doesn’t involve being mostly horizontal. Plus Harry would probably wake up and want to know what was wrong, and then insist on making him some tea and... 

Actually, that sounds pretty nice. He blows out a long breath, considering his options. For a second, he is tempted to wake Harry, but Nick knows he has a long day of promo ahead of him and somewhere along the way Nick has started channelling his mother where Harry’s insane schedule is concerned. He _is_ bored though, and tired, and really, that’s the only reason he does it. He glances over at Harry once more (still sleeping, thank god) and then at the ceiling for a bit, before he gives in and looks back at his belly. There is no way he is ever telling Harry about this. 

He clears his throat, then tries a quiet, “Alright?”

He’s gone for casual, although he’s not sure if that’s really how you address a baby. He tries to remember what Harry usually says, but fails. Harry mostly does it when he thinks Nick is asleep, mumbling all sorts of nonsense to it and humming snatches of songs and just generally being obnoxiously adorable. Nick has been called many things in his life, but ‘obnoxiously adorable’ has never been one of them and he’s not stupid enough to compete with a seasoned pro like Harry Styles.

“I’m only doing this because I’m bored and you won’t go to sleep,” Nick whispers instead, in case the baby gets any ideas about him being the pushover parent (it’s clearly Harry). “You probably don’t even know what boredom is.” He pauses, “or, I dunno, maybe you do. What do you do in there all day? Besides leech off my vital organs and give me heartburn.”

He rests a hand on the curve of his belly to see if he can feel a response (some kind of apology for the heartburn would be very welcome). The doctor said it could hear them now, or hear garbled words at least. Their voices are supposed to be soothing, apparently, by which Nick hopes the doctor meant sleep-inducing. “I s’pose you get to listen to the Breakfast Show,” Nick continues, mostly thinking out loud. “although you’re a bit young for the target demographic. Not sure they have a baby FM yet though.” He feels a flutter and rubs at the skin there, surprised. “Good idea, yeah? Maybe that could be a thing. I could make millions just playing nursery rhymes and reading bedtime stories, maybe throw in a bit of toddler hip hop, some alphabet features – what do you reckon? It could be a winner.”

This talking to the baby thing is kind of like being on the radio anyway, he thinks, only without Finchy looming over his shoulder and having to throw to Tina for the news every half hour.

“Hey, do you think Baby FM would need the news?” Nick asks - not that he’s seriously considering Baby FM or anything (much - it never hurts to do a bit of research). There’s no movement under his hand, so he takes that as a no. “Yeah, baby news would be rubbish – you’d just be doing shout outs to babies for not weeing on the carpet. It’s not like you do a lot – no offence. You don’t even need the weather when you’re a baby. It’s gonna be cold and showery? Who cares - you’ll be bundled up in 15 coats under a plastic sheet, you’re laughing.”

The baby flutters at him again and he pats his belly absently for a moment, yawning as he watches the familiar play of light on the ceiling from the streetlamp outside, visible even with the curtains drawn. He’s missed this flat these past few weeks. It’s been besieged by paparazzi so often, it’s just been easier to stay at Harry’s - something that Harry has actively encouraged, although Nick’s so far resisted all hints to make the move permanent. His life has changed so dramatically in such a short time, he’d like to hold on to at least a _few_ things he knows, his job and his flat chief among them, at least for now.

Speaking of which. “When I’ve finished being barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, I’ll take you into the radio with me if you like. I mean, I know I take you with me now but you probably won’t remember that. I take you with me to the toilet too, so it’s probably best you don’t, really.” Harry probably wouldn’t approve of him discussing toilets with the baby so he quickly changes tack. “I expect your other dad will want to take you off to do popstar stuff, and you’ll think that’s more glamorous than Radio One and I’ll be stuck as the embarrassing dad.” He shrugs and rubs soothing circles over his belly as the fluttering starts up again, though softer now. “It’s alright, I wouldn’t blame you. Everyone knows One Direction are bigger on the toddler scene and they’re a tough crowd to break. You’ve got to know the right people and if you know Harry Styles, you’re in. By the time you’re old enough for Radio One, they’ll have shipped me off to Magic FM anyway.” 

It occurs to him then that his window for being a cool dad is distressingly small. Clearly he’s going to need some kind of niche if he’s going to compete with jet setting popstars. He thinks that over for a few seconds. “I could take you to gigs,” he says at last, brightening. “I bet you’d like that. How d’you fancy the Hackney Weekend next year? We could get you some ear plugs for the loud bits and tell your dad we’re going to baby yoga. Obviously we’ll have to hide from the cameras, that or we’ll get you a disguise.” He’s probably got this dad business sorted actually. Who the hell needs Harry’s seven baby books and a ‘Facing Fatherhood’ DVD.

He yawns again, wider this time. It’s oddly relaxing, just lying here talking, one hand resting on his belly. He can already feel himself starting to drift off again and judging from the lack of movement beneath his hand, the baby seems to have gone to sleep already. “You definitely take after your other dad,” he mutters, and if it comes out more fond than he intended, there’s no-one else to hear it. “If I talk at him for too long, he goes to sleep too.” There’s no response “Fine. I can take a hint. I’m glad we had this chat etc etc.” He’s been told to think positively so he’s choosing to take this as definitive proof of his soothing tones (in your face, Matt Fincham). 

He wriggles around to get more comfortable and turns slightly to the side – and promptly nearly has a heart attack when he sees Harry is awake and watching him, the most ridiculous smile on his face. Nick would never describe himself as someone who gets embarrassed easily, but he’s fairly sure he’s doing a good impression of a rabbit caught in headlights right at that moment. A very red rabbit in headlights, if the heat of his face is anything to go by. Harry is going to be _insufferable_ about this.

“Not a word, Harold,” he says firmly, when he’s just about recovered from the shock.

Harry mimes zipping his mouth shut but shifts closer, and closer still, leaning in until Nick huffs a little and lets him kiss him, only closing his eyes when Harry deepens the kiss unexpectedly, infusing it with an intensity Nick is not prepared for and can’t help but respond to. Then Harry settles back and obediently closes his eyes, but he’s still smiling, soft, and this time, when his hand sneaks forward to rub gently against Nick’s belly, Nick doesn’t stop him.

The End.


End file.
